


Object Permanence

by technicallyGodless



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: C137cest, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:08:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6143995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicallyGodless/pseuds/technicallyGodless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exhausted Morty forgets he's wearing a necklace of hickeys. Beth sees, Morty lies out his ass, and plots his revenge against the old fart who set him up for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Object Permanence

Sundays had become a fallback day for recovery. 

Since Morty had gotten past the 16 year mark, the family had deemed it more and more acceptable for him to “miss” classes now and then. As long as he kept his head above water and wasn’t failing more than two classes at a time the coast was clear. Ever since Rick had been imprisoned, they understood better that Morty needed to be there for his grandfather, whether or not he was much help. 

So they were lax about how the jittery boy would crash through the garage door in the early hours between 2 and 7 am after a long Saturday night, trailed by an unfazed, heavily sipping Rick. 

Although this time, at a record time of 8:24 am, Morty jiggled at the door handle and stumbled onto the clean carpet with something pink that was starting to rapidly stain. It gave off the stench of burning and attracted the attention of his mother from the kitchen. Worried there was another fire, Beth hurried in, coffee cup shaking in one hand and a small fire extinguisher clutched in the other. For a few long moments she observed the carpet, flicked to look at Morty, then Rick who was striding past the both of them with one hand in his pocket and the other tilted to his mouth in the usual coming-home gesture. 

Beth sighed for many reasons; the carpet was ruined, her boys were okay, Morty was sporting a necklace of bruises, her father had given her a heart-melting nod on his way to his roo-

“Morty. What are those?” 

Dazed from a long 34 hours of chaos, destruction, and adultery, the boy blinked slowly. He looked to his feet, gesturing at the coating and explaining it to be “Xaruud secretions, Rick needed the eggs for a, for something.” When she shook her head, he started sliding out of his shoes and carried them to the kitchen garbage as he thought of something else she may be bothered by. 

“If you’re, if you mean the scratches,” he mumbled, wiping his hands on his jeans and moving to dig through the fridge. “W-we got stopped y’know, there were some, some angry mom aliens, and they uh, they’ll get you good.” 

This time she folded her arms and leaned against the counter. 

“Morty, listen honey. I know you’re a growing boy, and there’s a lot of temptation out there. Especially where your grandfather takes you.” She paused to sip her coffee and grimace. “But I really.. Those beauty marks aren’t going to just be ignored, if that’s what you were hoping.”

Still very slow from fatigue, Morty sort of blinked at her again. She sighed, running her fingers along the side of her neck as a clue. All at once he understood, dropping the can of whatever soda he had snagged and turning an astonishing shade of red. Oh god oh god oh god, there was no way, he wouldn’t have done that and just, just let them walk in there, at the exact time he knew Beth would be awake, and…!

“Again, I don’t mean to embarrass you; I’d just like to know who those are coming from. I’ve noticed before, but these look very new..”

The nervous boy’s throat closed and he practically fell to his knees to pick up the can he’d dropped. Teeth set and eyes glued to the ground, he placed the can in the sink and pretended that if he didn’t say anything this would go away. The tactic worked 70% of the time, why wouldn’t it now, god, please let it work now. 

It didn’t. 

“Morty? I’d like an answer.” 

Beth tapped her nails against her cup, clinking away the time that she was willing to be patient about this. Bristling his shoulders, her guilty son pretended to rinse the sink, as though he could wash away the gravity of the lie he was about to smack down on his mom. 

“Y-you, well you see,” he started, already sweating the pits out of his ratty shirt. “There’s this, w-we had to.. Jessica! This girl, w-we were kind of messing with, we had to fix some things, in this other universe, and y’know, how when you- when girls get rescued? Hahaaaahh..” 

Running a sweaty palm through his hair, Morty stood gripping the edge of the sink. Half of him was pleased he could come up with something on the spot like that and not make it sound entirely implausible. But the other half was absolutely seething, already planning the barrage he was going to unleash on his shitfaced grandfather. The old man was lucky Morty was such a pushover and so terrified of their activities being found out or he’d have made a beeline for Rick’s closet of a room the second he processed what Beth was referring to.

“I’m-I’m sorry to uh, to disappoint you mom,” Morty blurted, actually rather guilty for lying. “It won’t, I’m not gonna be doing stuff like this, just so you know.”

As he turned from the sink, Beth gave a brief snort. She petted a hand through Morty’s sweaty hair and pushed him in the direction of the bathroom.

“You smell terrible, honey. Get a shower, and I’d suggest patting some foundation on those before your father finds those.” She smirked, knowing full well Jerry would obsess over this for the next week if he were to find out.

Nodding and ducking out of her reach with a sheepish look of appreciation, Morty ambled his way to the bathroom. He locked the door behind himself, immediately leaning over the sink and craning his neck in all directions to get a good look at how bad it was. The answer was pretty damn bad. There was a solid line of violet stamped over his right jugular, along with scattered blooms all along his throat.

He couldn’t believe this. He remembered the time prior to actually reaching the Xaruud planet, how Rick put the ship on autopilot and leaned back in his seat, inviting Morty into his lap with a glance. He vividly recalled the hands up his shirt and the teeth that bit at his shoulder savagely, drawing pricks of blood and leaving him yelling in pleasure. There was no part of that stretch of time that went forgotten, especially not how that beautifully skilled mouth had kissed just right all down his jawbone and neck..

There was just a stupid part of Morty that omitted object permanence when it came to things like this. Rick could heal every injury he’d ever come down with so easily, he rarely came home with more than scratches and a bruise or so that barely hurt. So of course he didn’t check himself for marks that would rise concern or suspicion from his family. There was never a need to. But now, as he stood before the mirror looking at his slightly blurred reflection, Morty realised he had to be careful.

Pulling off his shirt, he was greeted with a torso like a work of art. His right shoulder was wrecked, with an hours old bite mark that was a dark violet and scabbing over. His collarbones were duly paid attention to as well, small reddish blooms were he had been nipped and kissed over roughly. Even his chest had some definable imprints of teeth, most notably an almost completely perfect bite ring around his left nipple. He winced, looking at it having given a source to the throbbing pain he’d been dazed enough to ignore.

The boy ran lazy fingers over all of his new features, pressing down on some to assure they were really there. All of them were, and God were they breathtaking. For as much as he hated having to cover himself with tacky turtlenecks or scarves for the next week, he couldn’t rightfully say he didn’t love every addition Rick had taken the time to give.

After a time he wasn’t able to measure, Morty finally got a whiff of himself, which wasn’t that pleasant. Scrunching his nose he shimmied out of his pants and briefs, kicking them as far away as he could. He screwed on the shower as warm as he could stand it, stepping inside and relishing the stinging burn it left on his little scratches and deep bite marks. He took his time with it all, massaging shampoo into his tired little head and letting the suds drip downward lazily.

The water rinsed as quickly as he added body wash, rubbing it into his arms, chest (owowow), stomach, hips, dick, and legs. He massaged a bit into his pubic hair as well, being sure that every inch of him smelled and felt like Pink Chiffon. Once he was squeaky clean, he lingered, lazily scratching his neck and generally daydreaming about how nice it would be to shower for an eternity.

Again an unmarked amount of time passed, the water running down his face having begun to chill. This was another welcome sensation, gently transferring Morty back into a more alert state of consciousness. He ran a slightly pruned hand through his hair one last time before shutting off the tap, shaking off, and stepping out onto a towel. He dried himself gently and quietly, the house peacefully silent as it tended to be on Sundays.

Body dry and hair only damp, Morty slid a towel around his waist and draped another across his shoulders, strategically covering most of his abrasions. He toed his filthy clothes all the way from the bathroom into the garage, where he left them to ferment by the laundry machine. He’ll wash them later. Or they’ll disintegrate. Whichever comes first.

He shuffled back through the house and up the stairs, practically collapsing through his door. As soon as he was in the safety of his room the towels were draped over the nightstand and his window was cracked to let in the fresh air. Birds are chirping obnoxiously and he is at peace enough to slide into a loose pair of boxers and under his covers for as long as his body decides to stay there. It’s 10:20 am on a Sunday, and Morty sleeps like a baby for much less time than he’d have liked to.

~

At about 4pm Morty awakens to a door slamming and the faint, familiar sounds of his parents bickering. A soft wind is blowing his curtains, and for a brief moment he stays in that beautiful headspace one occupies just prior to a long nap. He lazily drifts toward full consciousness as he watches shadows in the bright spring sun dance across his sheets. They reach toward his toes and retract to his belly, ebbing like the sea. He reaches to follow them with his fingers, occupying himself with nature rather than his own thoughts or those being yelled on the floor below him.

Eventually he realises that he quite badly has to pee. Shoving out of his covers, the frantic teen tosses on a light blue sweater that looks an awful lot like one of Rick’s and sprints downstairs. He passes up his parents on the way to the restroom, ignoring their awkward arguments while he pees for nearly a full minute. It must have been ages since he’d gone last, but he guessed that didn’t matter now. He shook dry and washed his hands, heading back to the stairs.

Then he remembered. Hickeys, mom saw, Rick. /Rick/. A flicker of rage lit inside his chest. He turned away from the stairs, sped toward Rick’s room, and barged in without knocking. He found the man passed out just as he had been minutes ago. The flask normally clutched in those bony hands was now lying on its side close to the nightstand. Morty guessed that there was an attempt to set it down, it fell off, and geez that’s not what he came in here for.

Mustering all the anger his half-sleepy brain could, Morty gently kicked the door closed and clicked the lock for safety measures. He then took a big huffing breath and marched up to the sprawled out old man on a cot he was supposed to be enraged with. Balling his fists, the teen climbed onto the makeshift bed and arranged himself over the sprawled out man beneath him. For a moment he stayed there, one sad part of him relishing in how close they were to having a nice cuddle at home.

Again he had to shake his head of these thoughts, he was angry, there was a choker of contusions lacing his neck. Leaning down and craning his neck to the side, Morty nosed his mouth against Rick’s pulse. He rested his lips there, feeling a slow and arhythmic beating beneath them. Pressing a kiss there gently, Morty got up the guts to take a hard suck at the man’s heartbeat, working the thin skin between his lips and teeth.

This kept up for quite a few minutes, his original intent forgotten for the sake of enjoying being able to lavish his grandfather with kisses. And, yeah, he did like being able to pull back and see how those bits he’d been working at turned anywhere from indigo to crimson depending on his technique. It took just as many minutes for Morty to realise the man beneath him had awoken and was working his hands into freshly softened hips.

And then those hands weren’t being very nice, nails suddenly digging in so hard Morty practically /had/ to bite down on that skin between Rick’s neck and shoulder to avoid blowing his cover. He whined through his nose, unlatching his teeth from thoroughly mistreated, freshly weeping skin. A growl vibrated from underneath him and it was all Morty could do not to jump straight off and out of the room altogether. He fucked up.

But he didn’t run, the teen just pulled his head back and licked nervously at the blood on his lip. He looked down anxiously at the freshly awoken and irritated Rick, whose nails were unrelenting.

“G-good morning..”

Morty couldn’t decide whether to look into those icy blue eyes or at the art he had recently drawn up from Rick’s blood vessels. He resolved to flicking his gaze back and forth, begging for the silence to be broken.

“Beth like ‘em?”

Blinking in surprise for the hundredth time that day, Morty was astonished to see Rick give a flickering smirk. He wasn’t sure how to react, twisting his face into an almost pouty frown.

“I-I knew it, Rick! I know you wanted- you set me up, you prick!”

Leaning back to sit on his ankles, Morty crossed his arms over his chest. He was answered simply by a bark of a cackle from Rick, who was sitting up to reach for his collar.

“Where’d you, why d'you even have that on, Morty? Are you trying to, to just paint a sign on your forehead, a grandpa fucker sign, is that what you’re doin Morty?” Rick teased, purposefully snagging a nail over a bit of the bite scab.

Morty made a noise of pain and then a long groan of exhausted irritation. He wasn’t ready for this, he couldn’t deal with this kind of bullshit with so little sleep.

Grinding his teeth, Morty spat a few last angry words at his grandfather before adjusting the sweater around himself and falling into place next to Rick. He lay on his side, entangling his limbs in the same random way the gangly man beside him did and ignored the questions of what he thought he was doing. He didn’t say anything else, just tucked his face into Rick’s neck and gave it a few tired pecks before passing the hell out.

Rick wasn’t up for a fight, and he really was digging the warm body melded against his. With a heavy sigh the man intended his muscles and draped his arms around his grandson, the both of them drifting into a well-earned sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> might add another chapter to this actually, throw some more makeouts in for the sake of keepin the sin alive ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> i hope yall enjoyed reading + im always open to editing, suggestion for improvement, and of course requests~


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